


Bitter Hell In The Lion's Den (For Some Of Us)

by InkgooSupernova



Series: The Winter System [48]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Evil Alexander Pierce, Guilt, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, One Shot, Peer Pressure, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regret, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkgooSupernova/pseuds/InkgooSupernova
Summary: Brock had never seen it in any of the files from before he was recruited, so he was fairly certain that the Soldier was never used like this before Pierce came around. At least not by people worth their salt to the organization. The people who abused the fist of Hydra'ssecondary functionwere likely sent to the firing range the moment anyone found out about their insubordination.However, that didn't stop him from enjoying himself whenever he could. No one ever truly forgot their first Hydra party.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow
Series: The Winter System [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693231
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	Bitter Hell In The Lion's Den (For Some Of Us)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Do Not Put in the Icebox](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341415) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot). 
  * Inspired by [The Creeps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558624) by [Chianine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chianine/pseuds/Chianine). 



> This story is inspired by two different stories, [Do Not Put In The Ice Box by Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341415?view_adult=true) and [The Creeps by Chianine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558624/chapters/5688851), and explores Brock Rumlow's reaction to using the Soldier recreationally after having learned about Alexander Pierce's little games with 'Snowflake'. There is also a reference to [Free As My Hair by Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053122).
> 
> This story is pre-series and can be read as a stand alone.
> 
> This story's title comes from the song [Hats Off To The Bull](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMfIZ4ArK_I) by Chevelle.

He couldn't do it.

He just couldn't do it.

Brock growled as he stared at the display before him.

The Soldier was laid out belly down on a table, pliant and drugged up to hell and back. He could see his hands, bound tight to the legs of the table, clenching and trembling.

He used to have so much fun at these parties.

The parties that Hydra hosted for their elite members were always a treat, filled with some of the most luxurious designer drugs and finest delicacies that left Brock feeling like he was going to be sick. They were all highly trained military combatants and experts in their field picked up by Hydra for their skills, not a private school fraternity raised with silver spoons up their asses.

No, these parties were for the elite. They were all to make one Secretary Alexander Pierce look good.

Brock had never seen it in any of the files from before he was recruited, so he was fairly certain that the Soldier was never used like this before Pierce came around. At least not by people worth their salt to the organization. The people who abused the fist of Hydra's _secondary function_ were likely sent to the firing range the moment anyone found out about their insubordination.

However, that didn't stop him from enjoying himself whenever he could. No one ever truly forgot their first Hydra party.

He could remember the times he let himself relax, though few and far between, surrounded by his team as they each took their turn burying their troubles and stress into Hydra's finest weapon. He enjoyed taking what he was allowed, dominating such a powerful beacon of raw violence.

That was, until he met the Kid.

Brock had his gut feelings about Pierce, the creepy grandpa vibe that seemed to cling to him always put him on edge. However, he, like everyone else with their brain between their ears, kept those feelings to himself as to avoid being next on the chopping block. No one in their right mind spoke to Pierce out of turn or dared to disagree with anything he said. He had seen far too many rookies with loose lips assigned to STRIKE Team Delta, never to return.

Though, he never expected those feelings to be proven true. Especially not in such a fucked up way.

The first time Brock was tipped off to something amiss was a mission gone wrong in Slovenia. The Soldier had gotten banged up pretty good, though nothing seemed physically wrong. However, Brock's guts plummeted the moment he heard the word 'daddy' slip from the Soldier's lips. He thought he was having some sort of hallucination or confusion relating to his, as most liked to call it, past life.

Then there was the mission with Jack in that damned church belfry. Where Brock met the Kid for the first time hiding in beneath the sink of the safe house.

He could remember the drawing he made, the dichotomy of childish streaks creating illustrations of depravity.

Brock was fucked up, sure, but even _that_ didn't sit well with him.

However, he kept his mouth shut. If Pierce knew that he knew, his whole team would be taken out, and he was not about to sacrifice his men to prove himself to be holier than that creep.

That, and if he was made into a target for the firing range, the Kid would have no one to turn to. No one but his Daddy to comfort him, if that's what one could call comfort.

That damned moral compass left Brock stuck in the hot, cramped room full of men and women each trying to get a piece of the Soldier for themselves, for their own sexual gratification. He wondered if he had ever used the Soldier without realizing he was just a traumatized child and not a weaponized beast programmed to crave the violation thrust upon him.

The thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Rumlow, you going or not?" Westfahl's voice barked, and he felt a hand shove against his back.

"Fuck off, I'm going." Brock huffed, unzipping his slacks as he stepped up to the Soldier's bound face. He could barely recognize him with the way the mock bridle held a rubber ring in his mouth, keeping his teeth sheathed and away from the part goers' sensitive parts. He fished his limp dick out of his boxers, stroking himself a few times.

Then froze as he stared into those wide, swimming eyes.

The sight used to be a treat, seeing such a desperate creature, something inhuman for him to drain his balls into without a care in the world. Something to show his place in the pecking order of their team, to show his dominance over all of them. He could make this thing drop to its knees and fuck him with his throat with just a word and a snap of his fingers.

That fun had been tainted by Pierce. The man that took it just a step too far.

What was 'too far'? Was forcing him to act like a child while he fucked him any worse than treating him like a dog? Both were equally unable to fight back, wanting nothing more than to obey as a means to avoiding reprimand. A shock collar, a belt, all the same to something half brain-dead.

Brock stared into those glistening eyes, begging for something the mind behind them couldn't begin to understand. What was it like, to see something so comforting hurting him for reasons he couldn't fathom.

He couldn't do it.

He growled as he stroked himself again, trying to will his dick to cooperate. He wasn't about to pussy out in a room full of people that looked up to him as a leader. He smacked his open palm against the Soldier's bare cheek, hard enough to knock his head to the side. He swung his hand again, slapping scruffy skin with his hardened knuckles.

"Why do you do this to me?" He snarled, grabbing the long mop of hair that annoyed him to no end. He had a million and one reasons to shave this creature bald, to get rid of such cumbersome locks that caused nothing but trouble.

The hair that was just another piece in Pierce's fucked up game of Father and Son.

Would it be kinder to euthanize him? To put him out of his misery?

That was the difference between the Soldier and humans, wasn't it? When you're half brain-dead and your fractured existence is nothing but agony, you never know when you're miserable. A break from torture is seen as a gift.

"Rumlow, quit holding up the line!" Westfahl's aggravating voice broke him from his fog.

"Fuckin'- Rollins! Get me a drink!" Brock barked, watching as his second in command rolled his eyes.

"I'm not your fucking gopher." Jack snarled. Never the less, he turned on his heels and stepped to the bar. Brock watched as the man returned, a shot of something amber colored in his hand.

The two shared a silent moment of clarity, understanding each other's plight, before Brock downed the shot. He felt Jack's hand pat his shoulder.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Jack do anything more than pet the Soldier's sweat damped head that night.

Jack was always a better man than him, he had to admit. He was right, telling him to back off, that this thing had the mind of a toddler. Brock never listened, wanting nothing more than to be close to the man he had idolized before his fall from grace. What a chance, to use his own childhood hero so thoroughly.

Oh how he knew better, long before the two of them became the world's most fucked up secret baby sitters.

Brock let his drink settle in his belly, mixing with whatever else he had consumed throughout the night in a pitiful attempt to smother the gnawing feeling of wrongness in the back of his head. He stroked himself off once more, giving up as his dick finally chubbed up to half hardness before slipping himself inside of the Soldier's waiting maw. He used his now free hand to cover the beast's eyes, not wanting to stare at such a frightened child. He growled as he bucked his hips, thrusting into the slimy, scorching cavern. Each slide of tongue and cheek against his flushed skin felt like the devil branding him with the fires of hell.

He couldn't lose himself to the feeling of the weapon's mouth, not like he had done so easily in the past.

With a few more aggressive thrusts, Brock pulled himself from the Soldier's mouth and stuffed himself back into his pants. "It's not even warm, you go ahead, Westfahl." He grumbled, hoping his excuse would be enough.

He found himself on the balcony of the ballroom, a cigarette between his lips. He sucked down the smoke, hoping the burn in his lungs could cleanse what little soul he had left. He hadn't heard Jack walk out behind him, standing silently beside him as the two stared out into the night.

"I'm going to hell." Brock sighed, watching the smoke plume into the chilled air.

"I'll be right beside you." Jack mumbled, rubbing his back softly. "Maybe we can watch ol' Grandpa Alex's soul burn together."

"Wouldn't _that_ be a show?" Brock half chuckled, taking another drag into his lungs. He couldn't help himself as he leaned into the man's touch for comfort. He wouldn't show weakness where others could see him.

After a few more moments of quiet contemplation, the two made their way back to the lion's den.

He could cry himself to sleep that night in Jack's arms, once the fun was over and the alcohol had left his bloodstream.


End file.
